I went out to put the tools away from the garden. Large moths fluttered silently, seeking nectar, or mates. Dark spiders sped across the paths, emboldened by the dusk, perhaps hoping to stumble upon the moths. Two thirds of a moon showed.
Light and colour were fading. The slightest opal glow touched the bottoms of the patchy cloud layer from sun rays already attenuated from their multiple reflections beyond the horizon.
I tuned into the sounds. Train leaving the station, far distant dog, neighbour whistling the only song I know by the Turtles, conversation, ticking of cooling house. Listening for that very particular sound of scratching, of scrabbling, of occasional buzzing and heavy chitinous collisions. I fear it is a little chill tonight. No stag beetles yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment